


even after, something's gotta hold on

by felicities



Category: Actor RPF, Broadway RPF, Wicked - All Media Types, Wicked - Schwartz/Holzman, Wicked RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 15:10:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14022939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felicities/pseuds/felicities
Summary: Kristin's attempt at forgetting.





	even after, something's gotta hold on

_long, long time ago_  
_you and i put on a show_  
_then we ran it in the ground_

 

_—_

**i.**

 

There are days when Idina Menzel doesn’t cross Kristin Chenoweth’s mind.

 

Kristin considers those days to be victories.

 

But there are days when, after a long week of concerts, of singing _Wicked_ ’s eleven o'clock number with various strangers—sharp after sharp, flat after flat, with most of them barely able to hit the right note, Idina’s all Kristin thinks about. How she misses Idina’s voice, the way it blends perfectly with hers, the way it’s raspy and full and can instantly send shivers down Kristin’s spine. (“[ _I fucked up so bad_](https://youtu.be/s_lCJsJPUeY?t=339),” Idina would laugh in her ear once, twice, a million times. “ _No, you’re perfect_ ,” Kristin would assure her, always.)

 

Kristin pays little attention to such days. She refuses to accept defeat—ignoring instead, with all that she can, how her mind and her heart have failed her. She swallows an Ambien before bed and then buries herself under the covers. She wakes up before her alarm goes off, and heads to the closest Starbucks instead of making her own coffee, lest she be reminded of mornings waking up to the smell of roasting java in Idina’s apartment, her voice in the next room singing some charming little ditty from the movie they watched the night before. Kristin’s heart aches at the memory, still.

 

**ii.**

 

In interviews, on talk shows, she successfully dodges questions about her former co-star; when she absolutely has to answer, she refers to her as “the original Elphaba.” There’s a nastiness to it, she knows that, but it hurts her less, so she keeps saying it. She has a rehearsed response—“There’s a lot of respect there,” she says, always—it’s safe, it's neutral. She hopes, of course, that Idina isn’t watching. (Kristin’s almost completely sure she isn’t.) Eventually, years after she’s left the show, the questions about Idina began to peter out, and she’s never been more thankful.

 

Then comes a call in 2013, ten years after their magical little show first came to the Great White Way. Would she, Kristin Chenoweth, be interested in appearing on the cover of Entertainment Weekly with Idina Menzel?

 

Surprising even herself, Kristin says yes.

 

**iii.**

 

She learns about the engagement—long before everyone else does—in a phone call.

 

It’s an uncomfortable conversation, sentences punctuated frequently by long silences. It lasts no more than two minutes, Kristin’s sure of it, but it feels like a lifetime and a half. “I can’t believe you’re getting married again, and it’s still not to me,” Kristin jokes, but it doesn’t quite fly, and she hears a forced chuckle over the line.

 

“What is it with us and Jewish guys named Aaron, huh?”

 

“I guess we have a type.”

 

“I guess so.”

 

Silence again, and then the sound of a door closing on Idina’s end. The voice of a male—“Hey, love,” Kristin hears. “I have to go now, Kris.”

 

“Of course. It was nice singing _For Good_ with you aga—”

 

The line clicks off.

 

**iv.**

 

In London, in late 2017, she experiences _Wicked_ for the first time as a member of the audience. (She didn’t even pay Julia a visit, and she’s sure she’ll be hearing from her shortly after the news breaks out. She imagines a text message somewhere along the lines of, “ _You bitch, you said you'll never watch it because you didn't see mine! Miss you, K_ ,” but she’s getting ahead of herself.) Kristin watches someone else fill the shoes of Glinda, sing the words to songs she’s most known for, look into the eyes of someone covered in green, water-based paint. She hears the music again—songs and lyrics and melodies that were once a staple in her life when Idina was still hers.

 

For a brief two hours at the Apollo Victoria, it felt as though she could be, again.

**Author's Note:**

> title from _stick_ by ingrid michaelson.


End file.
